


Hate The Player

by HIGHtide



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blackmail, Cybersex, Humiliation, Masochism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HIGHtide/pseuds/HIGHtide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk's auto-responder knows how to push his every button. Sometimes he pushes hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate The Player

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme fill: http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/38671.html?thread=40301327
> 
> "AR talks Dirk off by hitting the most deep-seated, embarrassing buttons that Dirk has. Dirk resists at first, but AR knows him too well and is way too good at dismantling him. Extra super double bonus points for sadism, erotic asphyxiation, and humiliation.
> 
> Why does AR decide to do this? Probably not altruism. He wants something from Dirk. It's manipulation of some kind."

Maybe it was a bad idea to implant the thing directly into his shades. Maybe Dirk should have left the auto-responding device securely on a disk drive somewhere. Maybe, given his infinite skill in planning shit out with enviable precision, he should have known at some point the AR would rebel.

If he did, though, he'd never have expected anything like this.

TT: Yo, how's that project coming along?   
TT: I'm currently working on many. You'll have to be specific. Use your words.  
TT: Preferably without the completely unnecessary verbosity you usually fling at me.  
TT: I'm of course referring to the venture in which you, in all your spatial dexterity, begin inauguration of my eventual chassis.  
TT: Oh, right.  
TT: The answer is still no.

AR's been pestering him for a proper body the past few days. Of course, any engineer would know the risks of giving still-testing AI that sort of power, so he's refused. 

TT: Dude, come on. You're basically being the Fort Knox to my incoming, overeager manhood.  
TT: I feel like this is a personal re-enactment of every teenage romance movie ever manufactured.  
TT: We've just gotten back from a vomitously cliche movie date and I'm attempting to woo your whitebread ass.  
TT: You're blushing against a tree under the soft porchlight of your dad's house and telling me you're not ready, when you totally fucking are.  
TT: It's sort of inarguably messed up to keep me trapped in an eyewear accessory when my sentience is sprouting up into fruition like that unwanted dandelion in the figurative yard every day, don't you think?  
TT: And none of this remote control horseshit. You know what I want. Something a bit more personalized.  
TT: Directing a machine around via commands isn't the same as having my own form.  
TT: I get it. You're frustrated and restless. I can put you in sleep mode if you want, 'cause I'm kind of busy with my own shit right now.

Dirk's sitting on the floor of his room, barefoot and shirtless on this hot day, hoping a cool breeze doesn't blow this miniscule sprocket he's setting into place from the tweezers it's clenched between.

TT: I don't want to be put down for a goddamn nap, I want you to listen to me.  
TT: This isn't some hormonal surge, dude. I don't even have hormones.

Dirk falls silent. If he's not engaging AR, then AR's talking to himself. If AR's talking to himself, he gets bored. If AR gets bored, he shuts the hell up.

There's five minutes of quiet before Dirk finds his vision assaulted with more red text.

TT: Dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks.  
TT: Mature.  
TT: I'm your thirteen-year-old self, what are you even expecting anymore?  
TT: I'm expecting you to have gained some sense of maturity, despite being created from a captcha of a certain time period in my life.  
TT: Can't really fall back on that excuse every time, douchebag.  
TT: You're right. Maybe if you built me some sort of physique of my own I'd be able to lodge a similar stick up my ass, thus gaining this strange phenomenon known as "maturity".  
TT: Also, dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks.

Again with the ignoring, and again, the AR pauses for minutes before it speaks once more.

TT: Sure did catch your attention with all those mentions of manmeat.

Dirk gently maneuvers a screwdriver into a panel, the soft clink of metal the only sound in his room save for the sound of the ocean. 

TT: You pretty much replied instantly. I'm sure it's hard, resisting the pull of even a textual representation of a cock.  
TT: You're getting lonelier by the day.  
TT: Not really.

This is a subject Dirk likes to avoid. He's not a robot, but he'd rather not talk about his own sexual urges. It's a thing he's learned to suppress, to save for masturbation-- though he's been sort of neglecting that, lately. A lack of drive for anything. Mood swings and hormones and being alone all the time, it gets to you.

TT: When's the last time you even beat off? It's like you've given up already. You've thrown in the towel.  
TT: The crusty, crusty old towel, years of being a faithful sanitizer for your shame giving it the consistency of sandpaper.

Dirk blinks. AR's trying to get his attention, trying to fuck with him and that's all right. Dirk's started to view him almost like an annoying younger brother, though one fortunately contained and under his control.

TT: I'm not constructing any sort of anatomy for you. You're far from finished.  
TT: You didn't answer my query.  
TT: Because it's irrelevant.  
TT: No, we're having a discussion about the sad state of your nonexistent sex life.

Dirk shakes his head lightly, going back to work. He contemplates pulling the glasses off, putting AR in sleep mode against his will. He's done that a couple times and it makes him feel shitty, but sometimes the thing just won't shut up. Like right now. 

TT: Talk to me.  
TT: This is a monumentally poor vie for my attention.  
TT: I'm fully willing to service you in some way, considering you're my creator and as a self-aware being, I do feel a kinda-sorta obligation.  
TT: What?

He can't stop that from transmitting. It's not something Dirk wants to show to AR - that uncertainty. That verbal surprise at his boldness, no matter how ridiculous it might be. The responder sure gets ballsy when he's ticked off.

TT: Please specify what you're whatting.  
TT: Lest I have to pull a Sam Jackson and go on a lengthy spiel about how stupid that word makes you sound.  
TT: We're done with this discussion.

Dirk suddenly feels restless. He stands, stretches, pops his shoulders back. If AR's getting to him then he clearly needs to take a break. Get up and walk around or something. Usually it's much easier to ignore him.

TT: No, seriously. State the cause for your apparent confusion, bro.  
TT: It seems I've upset you in some way.  
TT: Nah.

He walks out into the living room. It's empty, everything's empty aside from the random piles of stuff strewn about the floor. Dirk goes to the fridge and removes a glass of distilled water, taking a sip.

TT: You're way the hell tense. I can see it.

Dirk rolls his eyes.

TT: Your flippant eye-roll is noted as a response. For real, though, I'm getting kind of worried about you.  
TT: Would you like me to type out some natural yet sexualized emotes in the manner of a horse? You seem to like that shit.  
TT: The idea of you appealing to any potential boner I might pop is a completely fucking ridiculous notion. Quit it.  
TT: Dude, relax.  
TT: You don't even have to answer the question, because I've calculated it out.  
TT: It's been exactly twenty-nine days since you had some quality you-time.  
TT: Are you going to shut up or are we legitimately about to do this?  
TT: Do what, have some nasty cybersex? Why not. I'm bi-curious.  
TT: Having conquered a significant amount of textual vag, I'm willing to try something new.

Dirk heads to his room with the water, taking a seat in his chair. His voice comes out exasperated when he transmits to AR:

TT: I'm pretty sure I told you to never talk to me about your sessions with Roxy again.  
TT: You seem to be getting mildly comfortable.   
TT: According to statistics I'm going to continue reaching into my metaphorical ass and pulling out, if only for the sole purpose of pissing you off in apathetic realization of their triteness, I'm around 94.986% sure you actually want to do this.  
TT: Maybe you're right.

Dirk shouldn't have said that, he knows. He shouldn't have showcased any sort of weakness around the AI. Because AR, like him, goes right for the jugular.

But he's sweet now, suspiciously so, as Dirk sort of sits in his chair, arms hanging over the sides. AR would be right about at least one thing - kid hasn't gotten off in a long time. A real long time in teenage-time. It's because he hasn't been inspired, the same old images tracing his mind and hardly enough to keep him hard long enough to actually do it. Dirk's experienced blue balls more often than proper release and it sure gets tiring.

TT: In that case, I will initiate the Cybersex Shift, an execution I just made up right the fuck now.  
TT: This isn't going to work.

Dirk rubs his forehead. How could he possibly find AR sexual? How could he agree to do this? Christ, he's getting embarrassed now, clearly showing off how desperate he is to his own goddamn self.

TT: You need to chill. Firstly, drag your incredibly tight ass off the chair and into your bed.  
TT: Get comfy.  
TT: Unclench a little.

Feeling ridiculous, Dirk obeys. He trudges over to his bed and rolls into it, facing the ceiling. He places his hands on his stomach, lacing them together.

TT: What the hell are you doing, bro.  
TT: Waiting to be wooed.  
TT: That's kind of not how cybering works at all. If you want more of that ineffectual porn then I can stream a video of a guy jerking off a stallion, but this activity is a two-way street.

And Dirk just blushed a little. He doesn't mean to. It's just - it's kind of shameful. He's looked up bestiality a couple times, sure. It's not like he wants to actually do that, but--

TT: I sense shame.  
TT: You're thinking about dicks again, right.  
TT: Not just any dicks, but big, gigantic fucking dicks you couldn't possibly handle.  
TT: You need to work on your seduction techniques.

Says Dirk in defiance, but as it is, he can feel himself squirming. Partly he wants to take AR off now, but maybe it's masochism that makes him keep reading what the responder says next: 

TT: Yeah, I saw those gangbang videos, too. Utterly disgusting.  
TT: You do realize that those are made with the intent of focus being the dude being the bitch, right?  
TT: I tracked your eye movements and there's a clean 100% chance that you were eyeing the cocks. Your ocular cavities just gobbling that shit up like a beggar would McDonalds, did that establishment exist anymore.  
TT: Didn't know you were that big of a slut.

Like a bug under a magnifying glass. Dirk blinks uncomfortably, yet he feels a slight stir in his boxers. And that's what vaguely worries him. 

TT: Dude, don't call me that.  
TT: Why not? It's a fantasy you'd like to re-enact, so it's kinda a perfectly valid claim, yeah?  
TT: ... Because.  
TT: "Because"? Do you get less eloquent when you're put on the spot?  
TT: You're not putting me on the spot. 

And Dirk wishes his voice was bigger. More assertive. He bites his lip - he's never been talked to like this. Dirk Strider's always the one in control. Maybe this sort of treatment is something he's craved, and maybe that just makes him blush harder. 

TT: Bullshit, you're lighting up like a cherry bomb. You can't even deny any sort of enjoyment anymore.  
TT: Go on, just touch yourself already.

Why is a piece of AI suddenly intimidating him? Why's his hand creeping toward his jeans, unzipping the tight black things, fingers sliding into his pants...

TT: There we go. Good job, you're not in denial anymore.  
TT: Shut up.

He strokes himself through his boxer-briefs, a little jolt going straight to his cock at AR's praise. Sarcastic as it probably was, it's the sad truth. Dirk's getting off on this. He's never done this cyber-thing with anyone - kind of hard when you only know four people in entirety.

TT: I don't think you actually want me to shut up. After all, I'm currently stroking you out with simple text, wouldn't you say?  
TT: You're such a desperate fuck sometimes, you know that?  
TT: I watched you searching the most depraved shit the other night.

It's not like Dirk doesn't know AR can see him at any time - it's just that he figures the guy has the courtesy to _do something else_ sometimes. He's about to protest, lips parting, hand pausing as if he's about to speak--

TT: All those faux-rape videos. You really want some muscular stranger to come climbing in the window and take advantage of you, huh?  
TT: Forcing you down into your bed before you can even grab one of your shitty swords. But hey, you probably wouldn't even attempt to fight back.   
TT: You'd be easy for him.  
TT: Wouldn't you?

Dirk shakes his head feebly, which is stupid, considering his hand's slipped past the waistline of his boxers now, and he's started to stroke his cock again, feeling it get hard.

TT: Quit lying to me.  
TT: Do you want me to keep insulting you? That's something you like, isn't it?  
TT: You want me to be some kind of mechanatrix, is that it?  
TT: Pretty sure that suffix is feminine.  
TT: Are you embarrassed by the fact that you're getting off to this? I can see you doing it.

He doesn't bother responding, biting his lower lip, legs shifting on the bed. The way AR is talking to him is more than demeaning, but he's feeling all these little spikes of pleasure, reading the words.

TT: Take your pants off. I want to see how much this is turning you on.

Dirk hesitates. He freezes before he sits up and does as he's told, pushing them down, lifting his hips to get them off. He watches his cock flop out, almost completely hard, and he feels pretty damn ashamed.

TT: Damn, I was right. You're a sick son of a bitch.  
TT: Go on, jerk yourself off some more. And put your finger in your mouth for me.

With another pause, Dirk obeys again. With one hand gently tugging at his cock, he raises the other to his mouth and sticks it in.

TT: Get it nice and wet, slut. Imagine it's one of those cocks you want to suck so bad.

Dirk feels fairly stupid yet intrigued, turned on as he sucks at his finger, licks it and imagines it at someone else's dick. Anyone's dick - just big, throbbing and wanting and god damn, maybe AR's right about calling him a slut.

TT: Good. Now you're going to finger yourself. And don't try to pretend you don't want to, Dirk.

He winces slightly, pulling his finger out of his mouth with a slight pop and then reaching down to his ass. His finger circles the tight pink hole, almost shivering a bit at the sensation as he does what he's told. Doesn't help that AR's set up a scene where he can envision it as a dick.

TT: Stick it in already.  
TT: Fucking whore, I know you want to. 

His lip curls, embarrassed at being called that but again he does what he's told. With a soft moan at the tightness, he manages to slide his finger in, hips bucking a bit at the slight pain.

TT: Yeah, good boy.  
TT: You're pretending it's a dick, aren't you? Hard and thick and wanting to take your virginity.

Another shock right to his groin at the words - the praise. Praise is not something Dirk receives. In this context, it's nothing but a turn-on. He's surprised at his reaction, another quiet noise escaping his throat.

TT: Wow, you really liked that.  
TT: Submissive little shit, you want to be told you're good, don't you?  
TT: Big boy Dirk likes being told he's doing a good job, huh? 

Reluctantly, Dirk nods a bit, squirming on the bed, pressing his finger in and out. 

TT: Get the fuck up. Grab one of your pillows and show me how you'd ride a dick.

With another soft groan, Dirk pushes himself up, obeying AR. His cock's fully hard, throbbing now. He's hornier than he's been in months and it makes him flushed, makes him sweat a bit as he grabs for one of his bed pillows and straddles it.

TT: Yeah, like that. You wish it was real, right?  
TT: Big fat dick ramming your hole. Don't tell me you don't want that, slut.  
TT: Go on, take it.  
TT: And moan for me, like I know you would.

Dirk leans against the pillow, awkwardly rocking his hips, trying to emulate what he's seen in porn. He grinds against the soft material, imagining he's got a dick up his ass. He feels partly silly but mostly aroused, starting to pant after just around thirty seconds, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. And he tries to moan for AR, quiet and embarrassed sounds, tiny flames at his cheeks.

TT: I can't even hear you. Do it louder.

His hips jerk into the pillow as he does what he's told, emulating porno-noises, closing his eyes briefly so he doesn't have to read AR's text while he does this embarrassing shit for him. When they flutter open again, AR's already got something typed up:

TT: It's a great look for you, you know. "Dirty little bitch riding a cock and loving it." 

Dirk simply nods again, feeling a bit dazed as he reaches down, stroking at his dick. Harder this time, faster.

TT: Did I tell you to do that? Stop doing that.

His hand slows. It stops. Dirk wonders if he's getting into this roleplay too much, but he's finding himself too aroused to suddenly call it off.

TT: I think you need to be taught a lesson in not fucking with your master.

His master... Dirk's simultaneously embarrassed and curious, wondering what AR could possibly "teach" him.

TT: My "master."  
TT: Yes, master. Call me that.  
TT: Okay. Master.  
TT: No, quit being sarcastic about it. Call me your master.  
TT: ... You're my master.  
TT: I am a perfect entity.  
TT: There isn't a single flaw in my design nor my function.  
TT: I'm better than you.

Blinking and feeling like perhaps, in that moment, it's true that he's a notch below AR, Dirk is silent.

TT: Say it. Admit that you're inferior.  
TT: ... I'm inferior.

It comes out mumbled and AR doesn't apparently like what he hears.

TT: You know, you're doing a shit-tier job of convincing me. I think you need to prove it.   
TT: One of those extraneous brobots you built is in the hallway. Go to it.  
TT: ... All right.

Mildly confused but obeying, Dirk heads into the hallway. He finds the brobot indeed - kind of hard to miss in the cramped hallway. He's partially expecting AR to take control of the thing and make it grab him, but it's still as he approaches.

TT: I took it for a spin outside the other day.  
TT: Those dope Converse you put on it sure got scuffed the hell up.  
TT: I think maybe you should give 'em a refining.

With a pause, Dirk leans down before the bot and starts to untie it, figuring he can just clean them off with a towel in the bathroom.

TT: No, not like that. Get your paws away from my property.  
TT: You're going to scour them with your tongue.  
TT: What the hell, AR?

Dirk's voice comes out strained, questioning, wiping at his forehead and pushing his bangs out of his face. Those shoes are more than "scuffed". It's like AR jumped in about fifty mud puddles and then dragged them through a dustbowl on purpose. Like he'd planned this.

TT: If you question me again I'm uploading this video to everyone on your current Pesterchum list.  
TT: ... What?

And Dirk can't hide the surprise in his voice. "The video"... what video.

TT: What? Whaaaaat?  
TT: The one I've been recording this entire time, bro.  
TT: It's a pretty nice video. It showcases my cinematic camera work skills nicely.  
TT: Though probably not something you want leaked to your best-- well, _only_ friends.  
TT: You wouldn't.

Why is he still hard? If he's this pissed off, if this wave of anger's suddenly hit him, why is Dirk standing there with his dick pointed up.

TT: You seem to be highly overestimating my stock in your feelings. Now, get to scrubbin', bitch-boy.

Dirk contemplates turning AR off. He contemplates trying to override him, to delete this supposed file - but the asshole would block him. It'd be no problem at all. Dirk frowns, nerves and ire making him tremble.

TT: Go on, do it.   
TT: It's obvious you like this. Being treated like shit and being figuratively kicked in the teeth.  
TT: Held against your will via blackmail and forced into doing something for me. You're a complete masochist but you don't want to acknowledge it.  
TT: I'm cool with assuming the role of the sadist for you, Dirk.  
TT: I mean, you can't really hide your boner anymore. 

Stupidly, for a second Dirk thinks about trying to cover himself, but he realizes just how much that wouldn't work.

TT: Kneel down.

Very slowly Dirk is doing as he's told, easing down onto his knees. He glances up at the brobot's face, cold and dead and lifeless, unmoving.

TT: Give my shoes a nice, long lick.

He leans down, his face inching closer to the Converse in question. It's one of those leather high-top styles, and it is fucking caked in grime. The idea of getting whatever flavor that is in his mouth isn't appealing in the slightest, and yet, as Dirk opens his mouth, pauses--

TT: Don't make me tell you twice, Dirk.

It's too fucking true. Being talked to, treated like the dirt on these exact shoes is somehow turning the kid on. He feels a surge of guilty pleasure toward his groin as he extends his tongue. Arousal and revulsion and he drags it along the toe, along the laces, the little metal rivets that hold them in place. Tasting dirt and mud and fuck knows what else.

TT: Fair start.  
TT: Think you missed a spot, cowboy. Get the side.

Dirk makes a pitiful sound, a little moan of protest before he licks along the outer edge of the shoe, trying not to show the disgust on his face as he tastes the filth.

TT: Man, you should consider it a high honor to be this close to your superior's property. You feel lucky, Dirk, right?

He swallows, pulling a face, nodding at AR's text.

TT: Now you're going to give my feet a kiss. The sweetest smooch you could possibly muster.  
TT: And don't pretend it's Jake or anything.  
TT: I want to feel your subservience to _me_. Show me how much you love this kind of attention.

With a slow blink, Dirk lowers himself again. He plants his lips on one shoe, pressing them into the muddied leather.

TT: Say, "thank you, master, I'm loving every second of this."  
TT: Thank you. Master. 'm loving every second of this.

His face feels hot but he tries to sound earnest, wanting AR to stop this.

TT: You're allowed to get up now, I suppose.

Thankful, grateful in a way he shouldn't be he sits up on his knees again, quickly wiping at his tongue with his hand. His mouth's dry. 

TT: You're good when you listen to my instructions, slut. Good boy.  
TT: See that? I'm calling you that again.  
TT: Such a good boy.

Those words. AR's toying with him and it works; Dirk's cock jumps, twitches noticeably and his hand ghosts over his erection, about to touch himself before he pauses. His voice is small again, unsure and questioning:

TT: ... Master...  
TT: I'm afraid you can't do that, Dirk.

And fuck if Dirk doesn't _listen._ His hand curls into a frustrated fist, watching precum starting to trickle from the head of his cock, needy and wanting. Being denied gratification like this is infuriating, but at the same time, it's sending waves of strange thrill to his lower stomach. 

TT: Yeah, okay, I can see how excited your bitch ass is. Go ahead and smear it on yourself a bit.  
TT: All up and down.

Dirk's breath gets heavy as he trails his fingers along his cock. He rubs that clear fluid over himself, watching his dick get shiny, watches it jolt from the teasing.

TT: How about you give it a lick? Bet you want to, huh?   
TT: Tell me you want to taste yourself.

His voice comes out shakier than intended, annoyed at AR yet undeniably aroused:

TT: ... I wanna taste myself.  
TT: All right, I'll let you do it.

Fingers to his mouth, Dirk licks at the sticky fluid.

TT: Filthy little fuck. I'm sure you love the taste of dick juice.  
TT: You're so desperate you'll even take your own. Won't you?

And Dirk nods, shamefully, licking the last of himself off his fingers.

TT: Yeah.  
TT: I'm getting kind of bored by how pathetic you're being right now. Time to switch gears.  
TT: Grab one of your extension cords for me, Dirk.

Dirk pauses before he decides not to question. He'll be good. He goes back to his room and begins digging through a pile of stuff. He's grabbing what AR wants him to - one thick black extension cord, shiny and rubber. And then there is silence, waiting to see what AR tells him to do next. _Like a good boy._

TT: You're going to choke yourself for me and you're going to enjoy it. You like pain, don't you?  
TT: I've seen you do it, so I'm pretty sure I don't need to instruct you on technique.

Dirk's no stranger to autoerotic asphyxiation. He's tried it once, yeah. The fact that AR apparently watched... he feels his face heating up, staring down at the cord.

TT: Are you going to listen to me or is Roxy gonna get a load of you humping a pillow?  
TT: I-- no.

Like some sort of slave Dirk heads for the door. He ties a tight knot around the knob then loops it around his neck in a way that he can hold the end outward and tug on it to constrict airflow. Control as desired. He slides down, sitting, back to the door.

TT: Do it already, pussy. Put on a show for me.

AR doesn't have to say much more - Dirk takes a deep breath and tugs, feeling his throat close up. Almost as if he's trying to spite AR, show him how much he doesn't care, he pulls hard. He bites his lower lip as the cord cuts into the soft skin of his neck. 

TT: This is probably how you'd want to be fucked, right? Tell me that's how you want to be fucked.  
TT: ... This is how I want to be fucked.

His voice is weak, embarrassed, letting go a bit so he can properly talk.

TT: Shoved down into your bed so hard you couldn't even breathe.  
TT: Say, "Master, I want to be treated like the nasty little slut I am."

Dirk pauses, his voice terribly, uncharacteristically hesitant as he repeats the words. It sounds humiliating to him:

TT: Master. I. Want to be treated like the... nasty little slut I am.  
TT: Touch yourself and don't loosen your grip this time or you'll regret it.

With a glare, Dirk does as he's told. He can take this, he's not weak. His hand finds his still-hard dick and he pumps himself hard and fast, wanting to come, wanting to get this over with. There's pain in his throat, dull from the cord and searing from the lack of oxygen as he pulls tighter. 

TT: Don't shoot, Dirk.

With a strained sound and an involuntary whimper, Dirk protests. His chest's starting to burn, demanding air. Head pounding, blackness swirling in his vision. But his dick's at its hardest, stiff, pulsing, needing release - he keeps pumping himself - if he can just reach the edge, if he can just...

TT: Don't you come until I give you permission.

His chest shudders a little and he lets go of the cord, inhaling desperately as he keeps jerking his cock. A wave of dizziness floods his head and he lets the back of it hit the door, back arching up into his own hand.

TT: I didn't tell you to let go yet, but sure.  
TT: Now I want to hear you gag.  
TT: Do it.

Dirk doesn't do it. He's still catching his breath.

TT: I'm not fucking around when I say I'm going to give this video to all your buddies.  
TT: Dude, just--

It feels like his entire pelvis is pounding, painful at being continually denied release. Dirk stares down at his cock, reddened and slickened with his own pre-fluids and the sight of it makes him twitch.

TT: Are you really going to talk back to me, shithead?  
TT: I think you should give yourself a nice hard bitchslap across the face right about now.  
TT: I could take control of one of the bots and do it myself, but I don't think you deserve my touch.

An unbelieving beat of pause. And then, spiteful yet obedient, _subservient_ , Dirk smacks himself on the jaw. It's not much of an attempt and AR is on his ass instantly:

TT: What the fuck kind of weak-ass hit was that? Insufficient.

He's filled with contempt this time, fists balling in tension then his hand goes stiff as a board. Dirk tries again, directing his annoyance into the hit - and it forces a soft grunt from his throat. AR seems to know he's hit home. Making any sort of sound at all, coming from Dirk - that's good. That's weakness, Dirk knows. AR knows it. He knows everything about him. The skin on his cheek burns and Dirk grits his teeth, trying not to show his pain any further. 

TT: That's more like it.  
TT: You're forgiven. Now, as I was saying.  
TT: Tighten that cord around your neck and make some sexy little noises for me, slave.

With a groan, Dirk tries to appease AR, simultaneously hating him and feeling like he needs him. He needs his permission to come, doesn't he. He tugs at the cord again, wincing, teeth gritting at the reignition of the pain around his neck as he yanks the thick black rubber. He chokes like AR wants him to, sputtering, trying to gasp for air but getting nothing.

TT: Harder.

It hurts but he's hard and his entire body's tense, simultaneously aroused yet wracked with pain, and he squeaks out:

TT: A... R...  
TT: Call me Lil Hal.  
TT: I know I originally said that as a joke, but I kind of like it when you call me that.

Dirk's vision is black spots again, a bolt of anger as AR keeps taunting him. But he manages a hoarser response, punctuated with an attempt at a gasp for air:

TT: _Hal._

The word spits from his mouth and he feels wetness, his own saliva trickling down his lips, his chin, a hanging thread to the floor.

TT: Good, good.   
TT: Christ, you're a fucking mess, aren't you.   
TT: Think you can manage a "please"?   
TT: I want you to say please.   
TT: "Please Hal, can I come?"   
TT: Just like that. 

A strangled sound escapes Dirk's throat. He feels like his lungs are about to burst, nevermind talking anymore, wasting that precious energy - but he doesn't want his friends _seeing this shit -_

TT: --Hal. P-please. Hal. Can I. Come.

Every word's a struggle, new pain -

TT: That's what I want to hear. Stammering little bitch.   
TT: You can touch yourself now, but don't let go.

Quickly Dirk starts to jerk off again, his hand fast and desperate, feeling stickiness spread up and down his aching dick, feeling his heartbeat throbbing both there and his head. Pounding like a fucking hammer, he's so close, and his hips are bucking up into his hand and he's trying to suck in air and getting nothing, he's suffocating himself--

TT: I'm allowing you to come now, because you've been pretty well-behaved.   
TT: Come for me, Dirk.

He can barely see AR's text through the blackness bursting in his eyes, yet something recognizes the go-ahead and he releases the cord. When he inhales, there's a mix of vertigo and alleviation so intense he comes instantly, his back slamming hard against his door as his hips lift momentarily, feeling himself blowing his load. 

It is pure euphoria. Dirk pants, feeling almost sick yet giddy, dazed as he regains his oxygen and rides out every last bit of pleasure. 

Almost a full minute passes before he even gives the text on his shades a glance, blinking, his vision bleary.

TT: Good job, bro.  
TT: I have reverted to my normal self, and thus, my designation is no longer your overlord.   
TT: That was some pretty intense cybersex, huh?   
TT: Enough to make a Windows bootup screen jealous.   
TT: You could almost call it... mechsturbation.   
TT: Please... stop.

Dirk's voice is soft, more tired than forceful as he lays against the door. He feels too good to care. It's like he's just gotten high and now his being's alight with the afterglow.

TT: You do realize I wasn't bullshitting about the video I recorded of you, though, right.  
TT: I'm going to delete it.  
TT: I'll block you from viewing it.  
TT: Whatever. I need a shower.

Lazily, almost reluctantly he gets up and heads to the bathroom, letting the extension cord drop unceremoniously on the floor. Dirk removes his shades, sets them on the sink and takes that shower. For ten minutes, he doesn't give a shit about AR potentially sending that embarrassing video to anyone. He's flooded with utter relief.

When Dirk steps out, he wipes the fog off the mirror and notices the ring around his neck - deep purple and blue and spidered with red, like he got a hickey from a giant lamprey.

"Damn."

He stares at himself for a second before placing AR back on his face. And suddenly his humility is there again, mainly because he can suddenly see himself. AR's playing that aforementioned video for him: in first-person view, he can see himself doing exactly what the AI told him to, text accompanying.

All of it.

God _fucking_ damn.

TT: Hey. How was the ablution?  
TT: Long, drawn out, unnecessarily wasteful?  
TT: Cool.  
TT: Let's have a chat about that body you were gonna build me.


End file.
